Hope
Maybe there is something that inspires hope in the water around Massachusetts. There were early American colonies with great hopes for a new life, the Boston Tea Party was in that state, Shay‘s Rebellion over unfair taxation after the Revolutionary war proved that the country needed a stronger federal government, and the constitution was updated to help coordinate between states and with other countries. The history of that early state is rich with ideas, hope, and great efforts.
Emily Dickinson lived in Massachusetts, most of her life in her home town, and rarely left her house. One of her poems describes Hope as the thing with feathers, sometimes very small, very quiet, but never stops, and never asks anything for itself
I respect Ms. Dickinson‘s vast trove of written thought; greatly introspective and deeply felt. Her perspectives were highly personal, and focused on the intense and deep awareness of where she lived, and the people of her close family.
In contrast, Khalil Gibran moved to Massachusetts from Lebanon as a child, back to Lebanon, and again to Massachusetts. His education as an outsider in every place he’d lived built his great sensitivity to the experiences of others. Gibran was many things in many places, and lived bridging countries, the religious battles in Lebanon, cultures, languages, and ages. His version of hope embraces the wide world and universal humanity, with all our varied perspectives. A recent book for children takes a poetic extract of Gibran‘s life and work in, “Hope is an Arrow.“
Both perspectives on hope are valid.
Care and Feeding in the Garden of Hope
I would add, to every hope we add diligent, regular effort, to keep it healthy and share with our neighbors. In my garden is a parasitic weed that comes back midsummer each year. I watch for it, even while hoping it will die out and give up. I could stay away, pretend it isn’t there and go about my business. If I do that, it will grow and take over the garden in very little time. Once this weed has sunk tendrils into my herbs and flowers, it cuts off its own roots and abandons the soil, sucking the energy of the green plants about it. So, I’m diligent, and pull out every tendril and even burn the soil to kill seeds, because I know that hope alone is not enough.
Every person can do heroic things, in doing the small, everyday efforts that pull out the weeds of disinformation, fear, and isolation.
Speaking kindly can change another person’s outlook. Chatting with neighbors, opening doors for someone else, picking up litter, and any of the ideas you can bring to the world for helping others will make a difference. The many, individual efforts are far greater than one flamboyant one. So, let’s keep pulling weeds, and sharing the healthy harvest and next year’s seeds from our gardens.
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